Wait and Bleed
by Moonchild10
Summary: Oneshot Murdocx2D. A single night took something irretrievable from Murdoc, and he only has himself to blame.


**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

**Rated for blood, language, and some sexual content. **

**Notes: this is 2DxMurdoc. If you have a problem with that, don't read it. Also, if some things aren't accurate, please forgive me. **

**I might make this longer than one chapter if anyone feels like reading more. **

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_One year._

Murdoc's lips wrapped themselves around the mouth of the bottle of lager, and he took a long pull of the cool liquid, which did nothing to soothe his nerves. When he moved to place the bottle back on the table beside him, he discovered that his entire arm was shaking.

_Three hundred and sixty-five goddamned days. _

Sitting back in his chair, he couldn't still the shaking. It was traveling from his hand to his arm, and up and down his entire sleep-deprived body, until it was nerve-wracking just to be sitting down. "It's low blood sugar…" he tried to convince himself aloud. Feeling the need to move, he stood up, the stuffy air of the Winnebago making his head spin.

Murdoc moved into the bedroom, lowering himself down onto the purple silk of the sheets, where he stretched out, feeling none of the comfort and relaxation that the pose would suggest. It had been here. In this very spot, on these filthy silken sheets. 365 days and God, the first steps of what would lead to this hell had been carried out.

It had been his fault entirely.

The grimy ceiling of the Winnebago was where his eyes stared blankly now as he did his best to focus on his surroundings rather than his thoughts. The night was quiet around him. The others had long since gone to bed, leaving him alone in the vast confines of Kong Studios with a bottle full of alcohol and a head full of bad memories. He wondered if they were asleep, or if the horrors of what today's anniversary was of kept them awake as well. Noodle had not been her usual cheerful self today, and Russel had spoken considerably less than normal. They had all avoided making contact. They had avoided bringing up the subject. No one spoke of it. Maybe it was better that way. And now they were off wrapped in their own individual silences, and there was no chance of speaking to them about it tonight.

Murdoc rolled onto his stomach and inched forward until the handle of one of the small cupboards beside the bed was within reach, and when it was open, he reached inside for the only thing that inhabited its dusty interior; a small bag. When his fumbling hand found it, he pulled it out and dropped it onto the bed before him as though he were afraid to touch it more than necessary. At first glance, it was nothing special; an ordinary bag, made of brown paper, with an ominous smudge on the side. But the bag held more of what was left of Murdoc than he liked to admit. Keeping his vision trained on that small bag, he allowed his thoughts to drift back to that night….

**XXX**

It had been a quiet night, much like this one. It was mid-July, always an eventful time for the band. It seemed things always sped up come summer. Things were going at their normal breakneck pace… publicity shots, interviews, promotional events for Demon Days, general insanity. It had been amongst the delicious time of renewed fame that the lives of the fabulous Gorillaz had been altered forever. On that night one year ago, Murdoc had been lying in the Winnebago and staring at the ceiling as he did now, and, as much as he had wanted to deny it, his mind had been wracked with guilt. And it was for one simple reason…

He had fucked 2D.

It wasn't even the sex that had bothered Murdoc. It wasn't as though it wasn't a routine part of his life. And it wasn't even the fact that it had been with 2D that had caused the problem. It was the way Murdoc had chosen to handle the situation afterward. He had to admit, he hadn't been thinking much at the time. The opportunity had arisen, and without much hesitation from either of them, it had been taken. They'd been celebrating a particularly successful concert, in Murdoc's favorite fashion: high spirits, confident banter, and plenty of alcohol. It had started out normally, and ended up with their lips on each other's mouths rather on those of the bottles. Maybe it had simply been too much alcohol, or maybe there was something in the air, but either way, it had happened. There was no reversing it.

Afterward, as they lay on those sheets in silence, neither able to come up with a reasonable excuse for what had happened, something had come out of 2D's mouth that made Murdoc's blood run cold. He had turned his head, hollow eyes focused on Murdoc in a more intense way than normal, his mouth twisted into an odd expression of thoughtfulness. His pale hand had carefully cupped the bassist's cheek, staring into his mismatched eyes with intense focus. "I love you, Murdoc." he said it in such a matter-of-fact way that it didn't register in Murdoc's mind for a moment. And when it clicked, he was overwhelmed by fear.

And so he had laughed. He'd paid no attention to the pain that flickered over his younger companion's face as he did. He didn't care, all he wanted was for the awkward subject of the emotion to be dropped. "Sure Stu," he had said, and then chuckled in a very fake way, as though he didn't really believe him. Murdoc made no mention of his own feelings. He knew Stuart was serious. And he knew that honestly, somewhere deep down, he returned his feelings. This was far too awkward for comfort. He laughed it off like he was as heartless as he routinely acted toward the singer, and turned away from him, pulling the silk sheets up to his naked waist.

It was a few minutes before he heard Stuart shift, heard him dressing, and then heard him leave, without so much as a word. The Winnebago door slammed shut, and the sound reverberated through Murdoc's overwhelmed skull. He could still feel the pissed-off vibes that had radiated from the retreating man's back even when he was probably half way back to the basement. Murdoc had ridiculed and physically abused 2D since they had first met, but something told him he had gone a bit far with this. And he really couldn't see a way to mend it now.

And then it was three days later, and he was still overpowered with guilt as he lay in the darkness of the Winnebago, fighting back thoughts and emotions, trying to kill anything that rose up inside with harsh mental snaps at himself until he was left internally exhausted, lying silently in the dark and listening to the sound of silence. His own silence, the silence of the rest of the house, the silence of a young singer somewhere on the basement level of Kong, probably still agonizing over what had happened. This provoked a fresh surge of guilt, which he fought to extinguish, but soon surrendered and let it curl up for a nap in his belly, a cold and merciless hand wrenching his gut. The quiet pressed in upon his ears, strangling him.

Until the silence was broken.

It sounded like thunder at first, one single, loud noise blasting, muffled, though the house, coming from somewhere in the far reaches of the basement. Murdoc lay, frozen, wondering if he was the only one who heard it. He knew that Noodle was an extremely heavy sleeper, and Russel was usually still up at this hour, but had his headphones blasting. 2D was the only possible ally he could have in this, and so, with much reluctance, Murdoc dragged himself up from the bed, out of the Winnie, and headed across the carpark. In the lift, a very bad feeling began to settle itself in the pit of his stomach, and it wasn't guilt or nausea, it was something nameless.

The basement was always considerably colder than the rest of the huge house, and it took a moment to get accustomed to as Murdoc trekked toward his bandmate's room. The door was closed when he reached it, and he knocked loudly, attempting to act as casually as possible. "Oy, faceache!" He called out, rapping once more when there was no answer. "Did you hear that bloody racket?" Silence met his ears. He tried the knob, but the door was locked. He knocked a few more times, and when there was no answer, he became increasingly annoyed. Murdoc's rage was taken out on the door, kicking it repeatedly until it finally burst open. He strode into the room, and the smell of incense mingled with blood hit his nostrils.

2D was slumped against the wall on his bed, head resting on his shoulder. A large splattering of blood decorated the wall behind him, and more was winding its way down his face. The crimson of the blood stood out vividly against his pale skin and the otherwise spotless wall. 2D's smooth forehead was marred by one small hole. A bullet hole. That much was obvious, given the fact that the gun rested beside him on the orange sheets, gleaming innocently in the light of the room.

"Mother of fuck!" was all that Murdoc managed to get past his lips. He took quick strides to the bed, rapidly beating heart slamming against his ribs as though it were punishing him. _'He can't be dead'. _When he reached the vocalist's side, he wasn't exactly sure what the best course of action would be. He stood dumbly, tongue large and furry in his dry mouth. He found himself gasping for breath through his growing dread. "Hey, Stu!" he touched the singer's shoulder lightly, though knowing it was probably useless. "Stuart!" Murdoc was becoming hysterical now. He was surprised when he received a weak whimper in reply. So he was still alive? Murdoc climbed onto the bed beside his bandmate, careful not to jostle him too much. "What the hell did you do, Stu?" it was obvious, but he was helpless to hold the words back.

"Blasted…a hole…through my head," 2D said, sounding strangely out of breath. Murdoc's hands found 2D's shoulders, squeezing them in a gesture of desperation.

"This isn't about what happened with us…" Murdoc was trying to keep his voice under control.

"No…it's more than… that. I'm not that… stupid," 2D explained weakly. Murdoc lifted one hand and used it to lift Stuart's head from his bloodstained shoulder so he could look him straight in the face. The singer was weak, and his head moved unresistingly where Murdoc wanted it, and so it stopped to rest on Murdoc's shoulder. "That was just…the last straw."

"Bloody hell, Stu." Murdoc was shaking uncontrollably now. "Why the fuck would you…" he moved forward, pulling his singer into his lap in one almost subconscious motion. Now that 2D rested against him, Murdoc could feel how much he was shivering. This was not looking good. He was hit with the cold realization that 2D was probably not going to make it out of this. Wiping some blood from the younger man's face with his sleeve, Murdoc choked back the strange tickle in his throat. "You'll be alright, Stu. We just need to get you to a hospital…"

"Too late for that," 2D lisped, opening his half-closed eyes fully to look up at his older companion. "Sorry, Muds. Too…late." he was sounding weaker by the second, and Murdoc was getting desperate. They had to get him out of here. He had missed his brain, obviously, but if he lost much more blood, he wasn't going to survive. Some part of him knew that there was no time left to save him, but the rest wanted to believe that there was something he could do.

"God, 2D, don't tell me you're going to die.." Murdoc stammered. 2D's hollow eyes were staring back up at him, a troubled expression on his pale face.

"Didn't mean to cause…trouble." 2D was starting to lose focus on Murdoc, looking somewhere past his head. Murdoc shook him.

"2D, snap out of it! Stay with me." his voice pleaded. "Just stay here, please. Don't die on me."

"Sorry…" Murdoc could barely hear it. "But I do… love you."

And that was when it happened. Tears. They rolled down Murdoc's face and pooled at the corners of his mouth, dripping onto his shirt, making wet spots in the gray fabric. "Satan, I didn't mean what I said before, Stu." he wasn't sure how to put it. "I…you know I love you. You've always known I have, haven't you?" he was starting to lose control of his voice now. Head reached down, lips brushed 2D's forehead, hand stroked absently under his chin. "You're not going to die without knowing that." he kept his normally gruff voice as gentle as he could. And shit, he was still crying.

"I know…you…do." 2D was having more trouble talking now. Every word for him was obviously becoming a struggle. "No matter…what you've…always said." Murdoc gathered himself a bit, managing to stop from going completely hysterical. He sat still and quiet, wrapping his arms loosely around the rapidly fading vocalist and watching him stare straight back at him.

"Close your eyes, Stu," he whispered, stroking his blood-matted blue hair. "It's just a dream, just a dream." 2D obediently closed his eyes, nuzzling his companion's shoulder weakly. "You're just going to sleep. That's all." this desire to comfort him was new and strange, but the words flew from his mouth without his consent, anyway. "Don't be afraid."

"Goodnight….Muds…" it was a bleary whisper, and then it was gone. 2D's ragged breathing continued for a moment at its current pace, and then slowed. The smell of piss met Murdoc's nostrils as 2D's bladder let go, the warm fluid soaking through Murdoc's clothing and hitting his skin as his soft breathing shuddered to a stop. And then he was gone. His warm heartbeat ceased its thudding against Murdoc's own still steadily beating heart, and he was left with his arms full of 2D's empty shell.

**XXX**

Fighting back the urge to lose control right then and there, Murdoc pulled himself out of the memory and back into the present times. He watched the paper sack before him intently for a moment before snatching it up and taking it with him as he went on the familiar journey toward 2D's basement bedroom. The lift was dark and silent, the hallways empty, and 2D's bedroom was just as silent as it had been that night when he left it, carrying 2D's lifeless corpse in his arms.

The bed had been stripped of its bloodstained sheets, the wall scrubbed clean of its gory crimson stains, but the memory of how it had looked that night remained, burned into Murdoc's memory.

He crossed the room, taking his old quick strides toward the bed. Everything was left as it had been when 2D was still alive, and for Murdoc, it was like a window into a long-passed time. A happier time. He sat down on the bare bed, cross-legged, and opened the paper bag. He pulled out a gray shirt, unrolling it. From the soft bundle fell a small, gleaming gun, still mottled with dried blood from that night. 2D's blood. The same blood was soaked in large patches into the gray shirt. The shirt Murdoc had worn that night.

Pulling the shirt over his head, Murdoc smoothed it out over his torso. The blood made it stiff in some places. He surveyed his surroundings as his hand crept around the gun, fingers still trembling uncontrollably. It made a sharp clicking sound as he cocked it, and then his shaking arm slowly rose, the gun slid smoothly into his mouth. It was cold, and a shiver went down his spine. His finger crept onto the trigger… his eyes fluttered shut…

"Murdoc-san," came a shocked whisper. Murdoc was startled. The gun jerked out of his mouth and went off, shooting straight into the ceiling. His eyes shot open, and he caught sight of Noodle, standing in the doorway. She was clad in a long, pink Hello Kitty night shirt, making her look much younger than fourteen. Her green eyes were large in shock, and she was barely blinking. Her purple hair stood on end from being slept on, making her look as though she had seen something terrifying.

"Sweet Satan," Murdoc stammered. "Where did you come from?"

"Upstairs. Why are you doing this?"

Murdoc blinked at the young girl. Why should he explain himself to her? "Because I've had enough of this shit, Noodle-love," he explained. "And in the end, we all die anyway. Might as well save Mr. Reaper a trip, eh?"

In one swoop, Noodle was at the bedside, and her nimble hands had taken the gun from him before he could see what she was doing. The gun looked out of place in her hand, and the whole effect was a bit disturbing. Noodle placed the gun delicately on 2D's bureau and returned to the bedside, climbing up beside the Satanist and enveloping him in a comforting hug.

"I miss him as much as you do," she said softly. "But that does not mean it's right to die over it." she let go of him and gave him a reproachful look.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Murdoc exclaimed. "It's my fault he killed himself. Mine. And I'm going to rot in hell for it, like I should have done a year ago."

"It was 2D's decision," Noodle pointed out. "You didn't make it for him."

"I pushed him over the edge." Murdoc could feel that guilt again. It bubbled up in his stomach and chest like hot wax. "It was me. Everything I said, everything I did, it all pushed him farther, until eventually he couldn't take it anymore."

"Perhaps we all did things to drive him to his decision. But there is nothing we can do about it now." Noodle patted his hand. "But we must let it go."

"How can I let it go when I feel so goddamned responsible for it?"

"It will get better with time." Noodle hugged him again, and Murdoc allowed himself to be cradled like a child that had suffered from a nightmare. "Just remember that 2D-san would have wanted you to be happy."

Murdoc wasn't sure why, but he completely broke down at that. The tears flowed freely down his cheeks in rivers and dripped into Noodle's hair, but she didn't seem to mind. Murdoc was slightly embarrassed to be crying, and tried to stop his tears. It was impossible. And so he decided to cry until he was an empty shell, just as 2D had become.

It certainly sounded better than existing as he did now.

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